


Flood

by ChuGivesGoodPsycho



Category: Bronson (2008)
Genre: F/M, POV Second Person, Sexual Violence, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-04
Updated: 2013-09-04
Packaged: 2017-12-25 14:44:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/954352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChuGivesGoodPsycho/pseuds/ChuGivesGoodPsycho
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charlie's home, and he finds you in the shower.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flood

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HardiganCaptain](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HardiganCaptain/gifts).



The scent of your body wash diffuses, filling the hallway. He tilts his head back and closes his eyes, his nostrils flaring as he inhales in the same fashion as a wild beast that has caught a whiff of prey upwind. “Fuckin’ Hell,” he grunts through clenched teeth.

He stalks silently toward you, listening intently to pick out which task you’re carrying out at the current moment. He balls his hands into tight fists, picturing you running your lathered hands over your bare skin. His mouth twitches as he daydreams the marks he’ll leave on your tender bits of flesh. His fingernails dig into the skin of his palms, and his eyes snap open. He recognizes the change in the sound of water slapping the floor of the bathtub. He knows that you’re rinsing off the suds and that your eyes are shut tightly to protect themselves from the blazing inferno of bubbles dripping down your face.

He silently slips into the shower, watching as you loll your head into the jet-stream of steaming water. He reaches toward you, fingers desperately outstretched, stopping centimeters from your slippery flesh. A slight hiss escapes from between his teeth as he recoils.

The rush of falling water falters and betrays him with a void of sound. Your eyes pop open, and you startle, releasing a shrill cry. He clasps his hand roughly over your mouth. “Shut the fuck up!” he spits. You instinctively fight back momentarily. He keeps his hand firmly in place. “Did I fuckin’ stammer?!” he growls at you. “Keep it down.”

He pushes you against the colored tiles that pepper the walls. They’re frigid against your heated skin, like tiny, ceramic ice blocks. You strain, arching your back to avoid touching them as you gasp. “Come now, Pet…” he says with the hint of a threat lingering in his voice if you don’t obey. You hesitantly relax your back into the seemingly sleeted bits adhered to the wall. Your breath comes in sharp gasps as you try to adjust, but it’s no use. You know that each tiny movement will just shock you all over again. He moves in, blocking the flow of the hot water with his tank of a body, cutting you off from any relief. A small whimper escapes your lips, and his eyes turn cold and hard.

“Wha’sat, Love?” he asks menacingly, gripping your hips, pushing you harder into the wall. “Aaah,” he sighs as your mouth falls open without a sound, your lips forming an “O” as air huffs from your lungs, “s’better.” He digs the tips of his fingers into the softness of your hips, intending to leave bruises. You choke on the moan trying to free itself. He digs deeper. You clench your eyes shut and scrunch your face as your mouth opens, a silent scream evident. “C’mon, Love, give Ol’ Charlie a kiss.”

He leans in and hastily crushes his mouth against yours, his mustache burning your upper lip as you’re pinned helplessly against the arctic wall. He’s rough and careless as his imperfect teeth catch your bottom lip. He pushes them into you, pinching your lip between his teeth and yours. You squeak at the pain, knowing that it’s going to be right bloody when he pulls away. As soon as he backs off, you taste hot metal. You grunt as you let your head rest against the wall. You open your eyes to see Charlie standing firmly, blood dripping from his mouth. You reach up and swipe your lip with the back of your right hand, and you’re not surprised to find the crimson trail that you’ve left behind. You sneer at him, becoming angry at him for thinking that he can interrupt your shower like he owns the fucking place. “Fuck. You.” You spray blood at him, spattering his hardened face.

“Fuck me, yeah? Fuck Ol’ Charlie, huh?” he jeers, mocking your anger. He steps into you, grabbing himself with one hand, pumping thrice before charging at you like a battering ram. You try, unsuccessfully, to steady yourself and prepare for the blow. He knocks into you, penetrating you so hard that your whole body lurches backward. Your head makes contact with the tile, ringing out a sickening crunch. Your vision blurs momentarily, and you’re not sure whether to focus on your head or your nether region as he brutally thrusts. You grip his shoulders for stability, and he mistakes this for a sign that you want more. He leans in and nips at your breast, intending to leave marks all over you. He catches you a second time and gives a greedy suck, pulling his mouth away with a popping sound. He grins, already able to see the beginnings of a bruise there. Your face contorts as you suppress every sound that would normally surge from your throat. You’re in the proper position for revenge, so you lean in, clamping your jaw tightly on his trapezium, this time tasting his life in your mouth. You can’t help but growl as your animalistic side surfaces. Ol’ Charlie wasn’t expecting this move from you. He stumbles backward, throwing himself upward to display his dominance. His scalp wallops the shower head in a deafening combination of bone and chrome. The pipe groans, snapping in half at the force of the blow, creating, essentially, a thunderstorm in your bathroom.

“Goddammit, Charlie!” you scold him, but he pays no mind to the facts that you’re upset and the bathroom is flooding. He grabs at his head with one hand checking for blood, as he glares at you.

“S’your fuckin’ fault, you know? If you hadn’t hauled off ‘n’ bit me, we’d be fine,” he says with an incredibly, frighteningly calm voice. It can only be described as the calm before the storm. He lunges at you again, releasing a guttural scream, taking your feet out from under you on the slick surface. Water is rapidly pooling in the tub as the drain can no longer keep up with the sheer volume of it. You land with a splash, sending a small wave over the side. Charlie takes your hair in his hand and gives a good yank, pulling your head under the water. You writhe under him, trying to get a grip on something to pull yourself up. Just as you think you can’t hold your breath anymore, he lifts you out by your hair. You gasp and sputter as your smoldering lungs suck in the relief. “Now, Love, tell Ol’ Charlie you’re sorry,” he commands.

“I - I’m sorry,” you stammer, hoping that it was good enough. It wasn’t. Your head goes back under water, and you don’t put up a fight this time. You let your body fall limp, conserving your energy for when he brings you up. He waits another moment before doing just that.

“Sorry, Pet, didn’t hear you,” he says.

You scream, releasing everything that you’d previously held in, “I’M FUCKING SORRY!” You knock him in the head with the detached shower head as it floats by you, creating a deep gash. He lurches forward, taking a position on his hands and knees as his blood drips into the water.

“You don’t fuckin’ know sorry,” he growls, his eyes as black as coal. He grips your thighs much tighter than necessary, pulling you back down into a lying position. He sucks and bites at your chest and stomach, sure to leave bruises, before plunging his length into you again. Each violent thrust forces you under the water briefly. You have finally given up on fighting back. You surrender to the feeling of him inside you, the sensory deprivation as the water robs you of sound, sight, and smell enhancing everything else. You arch your back giving room for him to stroke your most pleasurable spot. He can tell that you’re enjoying yourself. He thrusts faster and harder, using his hand to drive your pelvis back into the floor of the bathtub. He’s only interested in getting his.

He continues his rhythm, not allowing you to adjust your body in any way. His smooth movements become jagged as he reaches the brink and then topples over it in a fit of ecstasy. He spills himself inside of you, pulling out to leave a milky trail in the water around you. He quickly reaches down to flick your sensitive bundle of nerves. He watches as your back arches again. He goes at you with his thumb, rubbing quickly back and forth. As soon as your breathing becomes uneven and he knows that you’re just about to come, he stops everything abruptly. He brings himself up onto his knees and leans in. He snarls in your ear with a hot breath, “Are you fuckin’ sorry yet?”


End file.
